


Lost in Translation

by arrows_and_fairytales



Series: Would You Still Love Me (If I was . . .) [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrows_and_fairytales/pseuds/arrows_and_fairytales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked:</p><p>Olicity teacher/student AU</p><p>The closest I could get - undergrad/graduate AU. Enjoy!<br/><b>*No Longer Being Updated</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted in the Would You Still Love Me work, which is being transitioned into a series.

There was just something about Thursdays that inherently sucked. Okay, so maybe it was just her and the fact that she had been up since three in the morning trying to convince Google Translate to well. . . translate this computer programming USSR microfilm into a form of English that actually made an iota of sense. Honestly, the glaring dragon she had morphed into today was not her fault. Not at all. No, it was all Google’s fault.

“What’s Google done this time, Felicity?”

Felicity Smoak glanced up to see that her internal tirade had left her oblivious to the end of Dr. Waller’s lecture and the exodus of her classmates. She scrambled, slamming her laptop shut and tossing it into her bag.

“Ready?” Lyla Michaels, Dr. Waller’s TA, was the only other person left in the room. The two had bonded in the few graduate courses that the computer engineering department chair (and her mentor), Dr. Steele, had convinced Felicity to take last year. While many of the other graduate students were put off by a then college sophomore in their midst--who could also match them code for code--Lyla took on an almost sisterly role with Felicity, looking out for her and helping her her study like a mad woman so that when the final grades were posted, the two women had the highest grades in the class.

Felicity hooked the bag on her shoulder and followed Lyla out of the classroom.

“So what the matter with you and Google? Communication issues?”

Felicity sighed, taking off her glass and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Merlyn has us working on this computer programming history project. A couple weeks ago, I found these code microfilms in the archives, but of course they’re written in a Russian shorthand that Google can’t translate to save it’s life. The project’s due in a week and a half, Lyla, and I haven’t even started yet because Google won’t translate the stupid thing!”

“Oh! You should go see Johnny’s friend in Linguistics. I know he worked with Dr. Waller last year on the Russian and Mandarin translation of the her new book. If you need something translated, Oliver’s your guy.”

“So where would I find my guy. . I mean not my guy, like my man or anyth . . you just said “Oliver’s your guy” . . . ugh, my brain thinks of the worst way to phrase thing.”

Lyla laughed. “He’s a doctoral student, so you should be able to find him in the graduate offices in the LU building.”


	2. Chapter 2

The linguistics building was one of the older buildings on campus. There was the lingering smell of chlorine, from what Felicity wasn’t quite sure--this was one of the few times she had found herself on what the students affectionately referred to as the humanities island because of its significant distance from the rest of the campus. She followed John Diggle’s directions to the graduate office, heading down the stairwell to the basement. When she pushed open the stairwell door she was taken aback. The rest of the LU  building was aging with dull colored walls, but still felt as much as a place of academia as the familiar glass walls of the computer science building. The basement of graduate offices though looked more like a warehouse, with an open floor plan, metal paneling on the walls, and metals tables scattered throughout, some with students typing away at laptops. At one of the tables closer to her, a well-built man with cropped dirty blonde hair sat seemingly scribbling away at the papers in front of him; he matched the description John had given her, well his back did anyway.

“Oliver Queen?”

The chair turned and Felicity came face to face with perhaps the most striking man she had ever met.

“Um hi, I’m Felicity Smoak. I know you don’t know me, but I know you--not in a stalker way, of course. Diggle. John Diggle, told me, well really it was his fiance, Lyla, but he did give directions to your--” Realizing that she was giving way too much explanation than was necessary, she cut herself off. “and I didn’t come here for you to listen to me babble, which will stop in 3. . .2. . .1”

An easy smile graced Oliver’s features, and for once Felicity was happy to see that her achilles’ heel of zero brain to mouth filter incited amusement rather than the typical social awkwardness.

“What can I help you with, Felicity?”

She dug around in her bag and pulled out a small brown leather-brown book, handing it to him she explained “It’s microfilm. A computer programming manual from the old USSR. I’ve tried every translator the internet has to offer, but it all comes out in gibberish. Which is saying something, because most people tell me that my coding looks like gibberish and that I could translate in my sleep.”

Oliver thumbed through the small book, and while he could already recognize a bit of the dialect. It was going to require more than just a quick glance, especially since he was more familiar with reading Russian historical texts than computer manuals--and there was no doing this half-assed because this girl was a friend of Lyla’s, and by extension a friend of Dig’s. Oliver knew that his friend would give him a severe and judgmental lecture if Oliver didn't help her as much as he could. Which meant, he thought glancing at the petite blonde, he was going to need Felicity’s help to make sure the translation was correct.

“When do you need it by?”

“Well, it’s for a presentation next week. I mean I don’t want to rush you, but Diggle said you were the best--”

“Give me a day or so and then I’ll go over it with you.”

“You’re my hero. I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

 

And come back she did. It was Oliver’s suggestion, watching her face light up as flew through the words he had translated her. When he asked her what was wrong, she had implored to him that this was a programing technique she had never heard of before. Ahead of it’s time, she had cried gleefully. Her excitement had led him to suggest to her that she might want to learn Russian in order to go to other university’s special collections to find more computer programming microfilms, and he would be willing to teach her said language. Felicity had quickly agreed, and every Wednesday evening she found herself in the LU basement working with Oliver on the Western European language. As the weeks passed, Felicity felt more and more comfortable down there. Sometimes, she would pace behind Oliver, twirling his jade arrowhead (a Christmas gift from his sister, Thea)  in her palm, while Oliver quizzed her on vocabulary. Sometimes, other graduate students--usually Sara, Tommy, and Shado--would roll their chairs over to Oliver’s desk and the lesson would dissolve into friends simply hanging out and chatting. Sometimes, the topic of the lesson would have them exchanging stories long past the time that the basement--known by the grad students as the Foundry--had cleared out. Alway, Oliver’s parting words to Felicity were выйти со мной. For the longest time, Felicity assumed that it was his way of saying goodbye for she had no reason to think differently.

 

Until the day that she did.

 

Felicity plopped down in Shado’s empty chair, rolling it over to Oliver’s desk. Finishing up a paper for one of his own classes, Oliver kept typing, but the corners of his mouth did pick up in a smile--which was sufficient acknowledgment for Felicity, who picked up the arrowhead, playing it between her fingers and spinning lazily in her chair. She tried her best to stay quiet, waiting until he was sending the paper off to the professor before sharing, what to her at least, was good news.

“It’s that time of year again, when the university reminds us how many credits we have by lining up in this registration waiting line that I swear is worse than any I’ve ever seen at the DMV. Which is ironic considering it’s not a real line, but you do move up slowly, this semester I went from 6:00am on the third day of registration to 12:00am. Not much of a jump, and plus it’s more work because I had to set an alarm to make sure --”

“Felicity.”

“Right, sorry, anyway most of the classes that I’m signed up for are the usual computer engineering stuff--Rochev, Waller, etc. But Dr. Steele sent me a reminder email to make sure I enrolled in at least one non-programing related class. So, I did a little exploring and voila! I stumbled upon the perfect course. I’ll give you a hint, the grad student that teaches it . . . always late.”

Her bright smile and humorous words were the harbinger of storm clouds, because no sooner at the announcement left her mouth than Oliver’s became an inverted mirror of her own.

“You can’t take my class.”

“Why not? I mean, I know we've been working on Russian together anyway, but I thought that way I could get more practice. Besides, it’ll be fun being the peanut gallery in --”

“You cannot take the damn class, Felicity”

Oliver stood, irritated and Felicity quickly mimicked his actions.

“I don’t see what the big deal is!”

The two stood toe to toe. Felicity could see the anger building behind Oliver’s eyes. But she couldn’t for the life understand why he was so opposed to teaching a class with what Felicity assumed herself to be, one of his best friends.

“You need to drop that class.” His voice was magnetized with his irritation and finality and stepping past her he made to leave.

Felicity wasn’t dropping that class without a proper reason. She wouldn’t take directive from anyone, least of all Oliver “I’m too stubborn and secretive for my own good” Queen.

She grabbed his forearm as he passed her, making one last demand for answers. “I’m not dropping until you tell me why.”

Oliver looked back at her, sighing heavily, and muttered “поскольку я люблю ты.” And of course, in true Oliver Queen fashion, with no further explanation, or you know a translation, he withdrew his arm and headed for the stairwell; leaving Felicity more confused than ever.

“Hey, Smoak, heads up!” The voice of Oliver’s cousin and fellow linguistic grad student, Thomas Queen, startled her and she glanced up in time to see a small object leave Tommy’s hands and come hurtling towards her. Thankfully, she still had the presence of mind to open her hands to catch the projectile, albeit awkwardly and by the tips of her fingers, but still she caught what turned out to be a thick paperback.

A Russian to English Dictionary.

She glanced back up at Tommy, who was bent over his desk scribbling something down.

“Lucky for you they don’t keep me here because I’m handsome, I have flawless multi-lingual transcribing skills.” He walked over to her and handed the scrap of paper to her with a wink. “The handsome part’s just a bonus.”

The bottom phrase of the paper, Felicity could tell was what Oliver had just said to her. The other one while familiar, wasn’t registering with her.

Tommy saw the hint of confusion on her face, and when he spoke again his voice was gentle. “That’s what he says to you every Wednesday. And Felicity . . .it’s not goodbye.”

Feeling like the rug had been ripped from under her, Felicity grabbed her bag -- the dictionary and paper clutched tightly in her hand--and all but ran for the stairwell, anxious to find out what those two phrases actually meant. She stopped just before the door and looked back.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. Now go translate that ridiculously coded message and make up with that idiot cousin of mine.”

 

Anxious (and curious) as she was to figure out just what Oliver was trying to tell her, she dropped herself on the steps outside the LU building, laying the dictionary open on her knees. Still bothered by what could possibly be his objection to her taking his class, she began translating the second line first.

поскольку - because, since

я - I

люблю (любќть) - to love

ты - you

He loved her? Her. Babbling, computer geek, Felicity Smoak. Somewhere in the back of her mind she acknowledged that was a decent and legitimate reason not to take his class. Now she was even more anxious to translate his usual parting words.

выйти - to go out

со - with

мной (Я) - me

  
Frack.


End file.
